Rings Of Resurrection
by Galleons 'n'Gold
Summary: Slightly different ending to the Deathly Hallows and follows a new beginning. Harry Potter as a Master of Death and something more... Features time-travel.


The sounds of footsteps could be heard, from a far. The crunches of stones and sticks snapping under the weight of his, accompanied him. The numbness had lifted giving way to clarity and with it, came awareness. His existence weighed upon him, leaving him weak-kneed and light on his feet. The sounds comforted him almost whispering that, they were with him when his soul cried, mourning loss and destruction that the battle brought on his, one true home.

Hogwarts was in rubble. It wasn't a castle that stood tall and proud that had made him feel welcome and lively every year he'd return to her. Survivors gathered together. No one said anything, but the anguished hope in their eyes made him cringe. Weasley's mourned their dead brother, George. Fred was broken, just like him, in more ways than he could compare. Their tightness made him feel unwanted, unneeded. He felt like a true outsider at that moment.

Well, he had always been an outsider.

Everything was ruined, everything was to an end. He eyes searched desperately for company of his friends. He needed them now more than ever. In all his life, there was that silent need for a friend who would stay at his side no matter what. Friends who would say, 'It's okay' or 'shit happens' and he had found them. But he never truly revealed his most fear to anyone.

Being alone.

But it mattered it not. Mud squished beneath leaving imprint. It felt as if, earth marked his presence and noted his soon to be departure. The imprints would soon fade, either by rain or just new marks on the soil. He reasoned, to himself. Just like the rest of the people. World will move on and the hurt of the war, however strong was temporary.

His departure was…permanent. He was truly and utterly defeated. And as the darkness engulfed him, he marveled at this… strange feeling inside. Clarity and purpose. His life was truly at an end.

He was the last piece of the puzzle, the last Horcurx. And he had to die. Harry didn't know what would happen when the last Horcrux price would be destroyed. A chilly breeze that seemed to emanate from the heart of the forest and lifted the hair at Harry's brow.

It was for the 'Greater Good' after all. The next great adventure waited for him. He wondered for the first time in his life about various things, Dumbledore told him, subtly suggested him, reminded him time and again, the value of self-sacrifice. Just like his mother, he would now do it for his friends… in the name of love.

'You raised him like a pig for slaughter.' The truth so true and real.

Harry accepted his role, he was playing. Things were so much clearer in his mind, every action, every purpose Dumbledore did was to make him feel worthless. To make him value friends so high in his opinion that he would do anything and everything for them including dying for them. To make him a martyr.

He really hated that man.

Dumbledore was long gone. Remus was dead. Half the order was dead. Ministry was fallen. Such a large gamble played by Dumbledore on everyone's lives. He could only hope that the gamble would play out, that all was not lost, he hoped for the sake of everyone else.

He took out snitch once more and read the inscription at the middle of the ball.

'I open at the close'.

"I-" Harry's voice cracked. "I am ready to die." He said in a hushed whisper.

A chill of power radiated around him making him feel… full. Leaves rustled. Harry somehow felt that they were excited to witness something. The stone had Paverrel coat of arms on the black colored diamond and the contrast against his pale, white fingers was sharp.

The black stone with its jagged crack running down the center sat in the two halves of the Snitch. The Resurrection Stone had cracked down the vertical line representing the Elder Wand. The triangle and circle representing the Cloak and the stone were still discernible.

He waited holding his breath for something extraordinary to happen. He really had little faith in this tale and it was no wonder to him when nothing happened.

'Master of Death, my arse.' Harry thought with a trace of sarcasm upon tons and tons of underlying grief.

With sagged shoulders, he made his way towards clearing. Some of them were still masked and hooded; others showed their faces. Two giants sat on the outskirts of the group, casting massive shadows over the scene, their faces cruel, rough-hewn like rock.

Harry saw Fenrir, skulking, chewing his long nails; the great blonde Rowle was dabbing at his bleeding lip. He saw Lucius Malfoy, who looked defeated, and terrified, and Narcissa, whose eyes were sunken and full of apprehension.

Every eye was ﬁxed upon Voldemort, who stood with his head bowed, and his white hands folded over the Elder Wand in front of him. He might have prayed, or else counting silently in his mind, and Harry, standing still on the edge of the scene, thought absurdly of a child counting in a game of hide-and-seek.

"I thought he would come," said Voldemort in his high, clear voice, his eyes on the leaping ﬂames. "I expected him to come."

Nobody spoke. They seemed as scared as Harry, whose heart was now throwing itself against his ribs as though determined to escape the body he was about to cast aside. He hands were sweating as he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and studded it beneath his robes, with his wand. He did not want to be tempted to ﬁght.

"I was, it seems . . . mistaken," said Voldemort.

"You weren't." Harry said in a loud clear voice. His own voice felt so strange, so clear and yet so unemotional in the dead of silence. The death eaters did not move and each and every one of them waited in apprehension. What would occur next?

And still, Voldemort and Harry looked at each other, and now Voldemort tilted his head a little to the side, considering the boy standing before him, and a singularly mirthless smile curled the lipless mouth.

"Harry Potter," he said very softly. His voice might have been part of the splitting ﬁre. "The Boy Who Lived."

"Nothing to say now?" Lord Voldemort asked.

There was absolute silence and the chill around the forest intensified from the Dementors. They formed a tight ring outside, leaving no escape route to him. Harry could hear his own ears ringing. The ring on his fingers vibrated and Harry could distinctly hear a soft roaring sound from everywhere and nowhere. And suddenly, Harry could feel a lone song of a child singing, cut through all the silence. It soon was accompanied by a huge chorus, invisible and yet composed of so many people, filling everywhere, layers heaved upon layers. He knew what they were doing here, why they had come. He just let this strange feeling creeping in him.

He wanted to tell them what he did for them. He wanted everyone to remembered what he was going to say

"Can you feel them?" Harry said, his voice surprising light. His eyes seem to have accepted the fate.

"Can you feel them?" He repeated in a slightly confident voice, "All these people who lived in terror of you and your judgment. All these people whose ancestors devoted themselves, sacrificed themselves… to fight against you. Can you feel them singing?" Harry's eyes closed in the rhythm, last part spoken only in a soft whisper. Harry instinctively knew that he was not alone and it gave him strange sense of comfort.

The song was beautiful as well as terrifying. He couldn't help but get lost in the tune.

"I have been in your mind. I KNOW you." Harry said, a lone tear sliding down his cheek.

Lord Voldemort smile slipped. His wrath burned through the brand he'd marked on Death Eaters.

"Oh, you like to think you're a God. Well, you're not a God — you're just a parasite! Eaten out with jealousy and envy, and longing for the lives of others. You FEED on them." Harry said pointing finger first at Voldemort and then at others surrounding him.

"On the memory of love, and loss, and birth, and death, and joy, and sorrow…so…SO…come on then, TAKE mine. Take. My. Life." Harry said looking directly at Voldemort. His eyes bared his soul, his hurt so much hurt and pain mixed with the weight of a lifetime.

"Because I have lived my entire life devised by mind of a MAD MAN! And I've watched his plans crumble and burn till nothing remained. NO ONE! JUST ME! I have seen things you WOULDN'T BELIEVE AND I HAVE LOST THINGS YOU WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND." Harry's fists clenched, so tight that it drew blood. His face was now a pool of tears, sliding down effortlessly.

"SO COME ON THEN! TAKE IT! HAVE IT!" Harry raised his hands dramatically up to his shoulders, parallel to the ground.

In that moment, almost all the death eaters looked down on this one boy, who had been a constant thorn on Dark Lord's side. Who was the reason they had endured so many crucio's. They looked at him with regret. They had expected a fight. But the fight here was . . . Different.

It didn't bring joy or glory at what they did.

"Avada Kadavra." Voldemort shouted out. Every pore of his body was charged with the energy of the spell. The body fell down, lifeless, with a frozen smile on his face. He appeared content.


End file.
